The Snow Glows White in Manhattan Tonight
by Crutcherella Wormwood
Summary: Wow this is a thing. When Jack "Frost" Kelly's supernatural ice powers start endangering his best friend, he has to close himself off to everyone in the Lodging House and conceal, not feel. But a year later, disaster "strikes", and it's up to Crutchie to try and set things right between him and his brother - before all of New York freezes over.
1. Don't Ya Wanna Build a Snowman?

_**Author's note:  
**__Because sometimes I like to trick myself into thinking crossovers are a good idea._

_(I usually regret it.)_

_But here's the premise of this might-become-a-thing anyway._

_**~CW**_

Jack was what they always called him at the Lodging House. They always knew that was the only name he'd ever respond to, and the the only name he'd ever dropped for himself.

What they didn't know was the origin of the pseudonym.

When the bedroom of the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House was silent in the cloak of a cold winter's early morning, fourteen-year-old Andrew Morris laid eagerly in his lower bunk, unable to sleep, in wait for the slightest sign of the sun's rise.

As soon as he saw the clouds shyly began to tint rosy-colored out through the large window across from his bed, he grabbed his cap from where it was hanging over the bedrail and scaled the iron latter up to the bunk above him.

"'Ey, Jack Frost," He teased from his perch. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"

Sixteen-year-old Jack moaned and rolled over to face him, eyes still slits. "Andrew, go back to bed."

"The sky's awake, so I'm awake," Andrew whined. "So we gotta get up."

"Get up when workin' hours start," Jack groaned, eyes drooping back closed.

"But...Do you wanna build a snowman?"

Jack smiled as he slowly sat up. "A'ight. For you, Kid," He said as he grabbed his blue shirt from the bedpost and slung it over his shoulders.

...

They climbed the creaky wooden steps to the spacious rooftop with nothing but an old, melting candle as their guide. Jack set it down in the corner and Andrew followed him, impatiently expecting to see the magic his friend his from everyone else.

Finally, Jack stood in the center of the concrete with Andrew sitting in front of him. He looked around cautiously, just in case they had a shadow sneaking up to see what they were up to.

Then he started to make a gesture as if turning something in his hands. A snowflake levitated between them and grew twice as large with each revolution it made. Flurries cascaded from Jack's hands as he worked. They glowed a bright white in the purple light of dawn.

Jack looked up from his focus to grin at Andrew. "Ready?"

Andrew nodded as he stood up, entranced.

Jack released the snowflake in one big, open gesture. In a flash the rooftop glistened with clear, shining ice.

"Wow," Andrew whispered in awe.

He awkwardly began to glide across the floor, like a baby deer finding its footing. Jack laughed and conjured up a blanket of snow that grew in the corner Andrew was headed to catch him if he fell.

"You got the hang of it!" Jack encouraged, sliding over beside him and grabbing his arm.

"Ya really think so?"

Jack thought for a moment before pressing his palm out at Andrew. Ice skates - made out of real ice! - grew right out if the bottom of the boots he wore.

"This is amazin'!" He marveled as he skated smoothly in a straight line with Jack's help. His friend let go, and he flew freely across the icy glass with a laugh of victory. "Lookit me! I'm like one 'a those ice dancers in the square!"

"Now, before that snowman…Want me ta make it a bit trickier?" Jack offered, stretching out his arms.

"Try me," Andrew replied, swerving to a stop.

Jack glided around the perimeter of the rooftop, a ray of snow from his palms sculpting two sturdy ramps out of fogged ice. A frigid wind blew through his brown hair. He grinned wide as he stopped at the foot of one structure, racked up speed, and soared across the gap, just barely making it down to other ramp. He raced back over to Andrew with a grand sort of "Ta-dah!" motion.

"You've had quite lotta time ta work on this, haven't you?" Andrew guessed with a raised eyebrow.

"It ain't too hard, now," Jack assured him. "You gonna try it or not?"

He nodded and hurried over to the foot of the ramp. It took him a while to bypass the friction, but soon he had built up enough speed skating in circles to make it up the ramp and into the air.

"Hey Jack, I'm flyin'!" He declared as he sailed through the morning breeze, too nervous to look where he was going.

Suddenly, time slowed down. Andrea's trajectory wasn't quite right for landing on the ramp correctly.

"Andrew!" Jack yelled in concern. Panicked, he threw out a hand to produce a pillow of snow where the boy was about to hit the ground.

The silver mist bolted from his fingers, but Jack's aim failed him as well. The flurry blasted Andrew in the right leg with an explosion of white, and he went down onto the ice hard.

Jack screamed Andrew's name again, sprinting over to his side. He scooped up the younger boy's shoulders and legs. His body felt cold, his eyes were shut, and though air softly whistled in and out of his nose, he didn't move a muscle.

Frost slowly danced down his right pant leg to his ankle.

Jack's breath sped up to heaving and then to hyperventilating. This was his fault, and he didn't even know exactly what he just did. If his hand had been an inch to the left he could've _killed _Andrew. Even if his friend was just unconscious, he had no idea how to fix this…What the hell was he going to do?

Medda. Medda would know.

...

"Jack," Medda Larken called as she came to her front door. "You know it's six in the mornin' an' I need my beauty sleep jus' like everyone else in this town..."

She opened the door with a silk kimono over her nightdress and her hair in curlers to a young Jack carefully holding Andrew with both arms.

"I didn't know what else to do," he explained. "There was an accident, and Andrew..."

"Jack Kelly, did you get outta hand with your powers?" She demanded as she took Andrew and gingerly carried his limp body into her living room. "This ain't acceptable. I swear to the Lord up in Heaven, someday you're gonna-"

"I didn't mean to," Jack replied weakly as he followed her in, closing the door behind them and sucking back the water building up in his eyes.

"You have to learn when to conceal," Medda scolded harshly. She gently set Andrew down on the couch.

"Well, can ya help him or not?" Jack questioned.

"Of course I can, Honey," Medda assured him. She walked into the kitchen and searched her cabinets. "When your parents dropped you off with me, they armed me with remedies like I was goin' into battle. Didn't know back then how much your powers would grow."

Jack knelt by Andrew, carefully analyzing his sleeping face. His skin was starting to pale more and more by the second, and his shallow breaths came out of chattering teeth. _He did this to his best friend._

Soon Medda returned with a glass vial of bright blue fluid and set a hand on Jack's shoulder. "Now, I'm sorry for snappin' atcha back there, since it is such an easy fix, but a shot to the heart would have been deadly. Don't you realize what you could have done?"

"Yeah." Jack fought back the tears starting to form once more.

Medda eased the medicine into Andrew's mouth. She sighed. She really didn't want to say this, but it came with her instructions from the Sullivans for watching over Jack when he was five.

"Now, I think I got some bad news to tell you."

"Worse than this?" Jack challenged.

Medda stuck a cork back into the vial and knelt to sit beside Jack. "The remedy comes from kingdoms that reigned hundreds of years ago, and it has some strange side effects from its original intent. It does not have the power to heal the damage done to Andrew's leg, but his memories will be altered to fit. He'll be okay."

"You call havin' a bum leg the rest of your life 'okay?'" Jack shouted, gesturing angrily to unconscious Andrew.

"Will you lemme finish? He'll think he's had it his whole life, and so will the boys at the Lodging House."

"How will they-"

"_Shhhh, pretend the plot hole doesn't exist,_" Medda quietly chided. "But Andrew also will not remember your powers, so you have another chance to keep 'em a secret. They're increasing in strength and ease for you, and so we have to keep you away from the boys as much as possible."

"They're still my pals," Jack said. "They'll still remember me as the same guy, right?"

"Correct," Medda affirmed. "But you aren't to talk to them more than you need to. You mustn't get too close to them. Especially Andrew."

Jack turned to his friend and placed a hand on his forehead. He was regaining warmth, slowly but surely.

"Communication with him has to be completely cut off, or he might begin to remember again," Medda told him. "You'll still sell papers in the mornin', but you'll be stayin' with me at night."

"Medda, you can't be serio-"

"I'm sorry, Jack, it's what your parents told me has to happen if the powers get this strong. This is only necessary to protect you _and _Andrew."

Jack put his hands back on his own lap. "Yes ma'am," he reluctantly agreed.

…

"Jack?"

Two days had passed, and besides a few stolen glimpses across the street, Jack hadn't seen "Crutchie" at all. He did a pretty good job hiding, but now Crutchie was starting to ask questions, and someone must've directed him over to Medda's. Great.

Jack sat on a massive armchair in the living room, already drowning in guilt. He tried not to listen, but Crutchie's pleas were loud and clear.

Now he knocked.

"Do you wanna build a snowman?" He asked. "Come on, let's hang around!"

Jack winced. No. He couldn't say anything.

"You saw me skate the other day, and Jack, I gotta say, I'm show biz-bound!"

Silence. Crutchie continued.

"Saw you sellin' papes this morning. An' you saw me too. Why didn't you say hi?"

Jack cussed to himself.

"Don't you wanna build a snowman?"

Jack crossed his arms.

Crutchie's voice sounded like he was pressing his mouth against the keyhole. "It doesn't hafta be a snowman…"

"Go away, Crutchie!" Jack barked, facing himself away from the door.

"Okay," Crutchie muttered. "Bye."

…

Crutchie's arrival to the door became routine. Every few nights, the same optimism machine would chug up to his doorstep and take a knock. Jack would always ignore or pretend not to be home. Meanwhile, he had reluctantly figured out his own route by now to avoid contact with the boys. He would go to the gates of the World office at the crack of dawn, buy the least amount of papers he could possibly get by on, and disappear to the shadiest part of lower Manhattan. Then he'd rush back to Medda's before anyone could catch up.

But time continued its constant turning. On the night that brought forth the heaviest cushions of snow since the incident, Jack was sketching the landscape he'd seen in his old leather notepad.

A knock came at the door.

"Do you wanna build a snowman?"

Not this again.

"Or ride a bike to Central Park?"

Jack sighed.

"I think some company is overdue. We sell the same pape, too! Why are we always apart?"

He turned his attention to the door. Maybe he could...

"It gets a little lonely. The boys miss ya still, you and your jabberin' 'bout Santa Fe!"

A sad smile crept up on Jack's face. Of course Crutchie would remember to mention that.

He decided to change is attention before he got too sentimental.

He turned his focus back down to his notepad and nearly jumped. The paper was stiff and covered in frost, and his pencil was frozen to the page with a large chunk of ice.

"Medda!" He yelled.

…

Though it was hard to remember to wear them all the time, the gloves had been the easiest adjustment made so far to accommodate Jack's powers. But since the night of the ice-covered journal, Jack didn't hear any word from Crutchie for a while.

He had come to expect the kid's arrival routinely at this point. However, weeks went by without a peep. He would come back, wouldn't he?

Jack had started spending his afternoons in the living room, just sketching and listening, hoping for some little greeting.

But… what would be the point of that?

Jack had taken Crutchie's loyalty for granted, and lately he'd been spacing out, just sitting and thinking what would be different if Medda didn't give him the vial that made him forget.

Crutchie had always been his brother, through thick and thin, since they found the Lodging House together. Jack stole for him and kept him safe every night they couldn't scrape up money and had to spend the night out on the street. Crutchie kept Jack's spirits up through everything with the ageless good-natured spirit behind his green eyes. Jack couldn't have been older than nine when they made a pact to stick together no matter what. And now, at sixteen, he retraced his steps through his entire past.

How would things be different if he didn't have this stupid curse in the first place?

What would happen if he didn't try to conceal it?

Anyway, Jack realized he was an idiot for waiting for Crutchie. The boy probably assumed long ago that he was just some self-centered jerk who didn't care.

Oh, but _did Jack care. _

"I'm goin' off to bed, and you should too," Medda called from the hallway one night. "It's real late, and I gotta big rehearsal with the girls tomorrow!"

"A'ight," Jack muttered. He sat against the pine door, tilting his head back. He just wanted the slightest sign, but there was nothing. There was going to be nothing.

He slammed a fist against the door. That's it. It couldn't be mended now.

Crutchie had forgotten him.

He pulled his legs in to begin standing up.

"…Jack?"

He froze.

"'Ey, I…I know you're in there," the voice pathetically attempted. "The boys are still askin' where you've been."

That wasn't even Crutchie's old voice. It was more dark, more grim than he'd ever gotten.

"They say to give up, and I don't want to. I jus' want to see you. Please, let me in."

It was broken.

"You said we were blood brothers." Crutchie chuckled under a weary voice, but a melancholy that was unusual for him weighed his spirits down. "Remember that? Said we'd always have each other's backs…"

Jack turned to look at the golden knob above him. He slowly reached up to grab it, but his bare hand sprung rigid ice from the handle. Jack flinched his hand back, for fear of hurting Crutchie any more than he already had.

It was clear the boy tried hard to masquerade them, but hard, shuttering breaths came from the outside of the house. Crutchie swallowed and struggled through the words.

"Do you wanna build a snowman?"

Jack dropped his head. Crutchie only heard a restrained sob from other side of the door.

_More than anything, Bud._


	2. Don't Come A-Knocking on an Open Door

Author's note:

I wasn't going to continue this, but after a while it got some follows and sweet reviews, so I thought, why not? This is not my best writing by any stretch of the imagination, and the scene is basically the same in the show, but the plot will twist back to being original or Frozen-y in the next chapter or two.

Thanks for the favs, reviews, and follows, guys! They make my day!

~CW

...

Weeks turned back to months, and the months turned to almost a year. With an almost-year came new challenges, new freedoms, and for Jack, new curse loopholes.

With new loopholes came a new reserved spot in Medda's Theater to watch the act from every week.

With a new reserved spot came a new spectacle.

Oh, the vaudeville show was pretty fair as well, but that's not what caught Jack's eye three nights in a row.

There was a reporter.

There was a certain spark of intelligence in her eye, a certain display of determination in the way she handled a pen, and a certain vibrance to her voice, the way it was stronger than her posture at times but rang out sweetly like the song of a sparrow.

His courage was built, his front was put up, and his cool smirk was donned. One night during the Bowery Beauty number, Jack climbed up to the box seat and slowly let himself in.

Her back and hazelnut brown hair was faced to him - she was too focused to even notice his entrance. Strikes of ink against the pad in her lap were swift but careful, and the glow of the stage lights below gently caressed her warm face. He almost didn't want to disturb her; he almost wanted to just sit down and take her in for the rest of the number, but you can't very well cross a stream without a jump.

"Well, hello, Beautiful," Jack greeted.

The girl turned in an instant. "What are you doing up here? This is a private box."

"Want me to close the door?" Jack offered.

The girl sighed lightly as if he were a minor annoyance, like a fly crawling across her notebook page that she could brush off in one sweep. She turned back around. "Please go away. I'm working."

"So, a smart girl, then, huh?" Jack questioned. "Beautiful, smart, independent..."

"Do you mind?" She asked loudly, twisting her head back around.

"Shh," Jack whispered, putting a finger to her lips. "Quiet down, Princess. There's a show goin' on."

"My name's Katherine Plumber," she muttered, swatting down Jack's hand from her face. "I'd rather you have it and not use it than have a valid excuse to call me pet names."

"Plumber, huh?" Jack considered. "Well, Plumber... The name's Jack, an' can I jus' say something crazy?"

Katherine turned her gaze back to the stage. "'Crazy' wouldn't begin to describe it."

Jack folded his arms and leaned into the back of Katherine's black wooden chair. "All my life has been a series of doors in face," he began. "Till this theatre showed me a brighter view."

Katherine turned, a sarcastic peppiness to her. "I was thinking the same thing," she said, holding up her notebook. "Because, like, I've been waiting my whole life to break the glass ceiling." She poked his shoulder, tipping him back a step. "To break away from cocky, know-nothing, pompous boys like you."

"I wish you'd..." Jack attempted again.

Katherine rolled her eyes. "I wish you'd..."

"...Become my place," Jack finished, extending a hand to stroke her chin.

"...Wipe that smirk off your face," Katherine snapped, pulling her head back toward the stage.

"This is nothin' like I've ever known before," Jack reflected, sitting back on the short border gate that closed in the box.

Katherine laughed incredulously and glared back at him again. "Don't come a-knocking my door," She declared. "Don't come a-knocking my door!"

"But ain't love an open door?" Jack inquired. "With you-"

"With me!" Katherine marveled at the boy's inability to take a hint.

"With you!"

"With you?" Katherine asked, scooting her chair more forward to the rim of the balcony. "Don't come a-knocking my door," she muttered.

Jack stood behind her, realizing nothing was going to work. His hand absently drew his pencil from one pocket and his miniature sketch pad from the other. Without really thinking, he found himself sitting on the edge of the gate, hunched over the paper, trying to catch a glimpse of the upper-class girl's sweet profile.

"I mean, it's crazy," he sung to himself as the lead grazed the page. "But I wish we could be a-"

"Please shut up," Katherine called back without looking up.

"That's what I was gonna say," Jack replied with sarcasm.

"I've never met a boy as impossible-"

"As me?" Jack finished as she did.

"Jinx." They said in sync.

Jack pointed a finger to her. "Jinx again!"

Katherine had finally returned to fully ignoring him. Jack focused between the beauty before him and its crude representation on the paper. He could never capture the fire in her eyes in a picture.

"This feeling may have explanation, but I don't know the location," he sighed, talking to himself. "Where you and I could be together free."

He gently filled in the grey shadows her curled hair cast across her rosy checks. "First-sight love, it's for suckers," he said. "I ain't so sure about that anymore..."

He shook his head, discouraged as he broadened her eyebrows. "Love's behind locked-up doors. Love's behind locked-up doors!"

He gently tore his masterpiece from the notebook and straightened it out. "City life could mean somethin' more, with you..."

He looked longingly to the fair Katherine. It was as if she had been deaf the entire time. If there were a world where he could truly be the man for her and not just another newsboy mindlessly flirting with a girl he knew inside he could never end up with...

"...with you," he continued slowly. "But love is a locked-up door."

He took the drawing in both hands and set it down on the chair next to Katherine's.

"Can I say something crazy?" He requested, whispering right into her ear. "Would you ever go for a guy like me?"

Katherine had a firm front of the silent treatment. Jack eased away, soaking in one last glance into her angelic form before descending the ladder back down to the main house.

After a few clangs down metal rods, Katherine let out a deep exhale. Her eyes rushed to the chair beside her as she tentatively scooped up the sketch of a young woman gazing softly into a sea of bright light.

She had to grin, looking back to the ladder Jack had just climbed down from. As impudently boyish as he was, his intentions were sweet.

Something fluttered inside Katherine's heart.

"Can I saw something crazier?" She asked as she gazed back down at the portrait, gently laughing at herself.

"Yes."


	3. Be the Leader You Always Used to Be

_**Author's note:**_

_OKAY I'M TRYING TO JUGGLE MULTIPLE STORIES AT ONCE BUT THIS IS A THING NOW I THINK YAY_

_SORRY BOUT INDENTATION PROBS WORD IS WEIRD K_

_ALSO SORRY CHEESINESS NEXT CHAPTER GETS ALL SRS BSNS AND LET IT GO-Y_

_I'll probably post the next chapter in a day or two._

**_~CW_**

The thought of Katherine wasn't forgotten, just pushed aside in the next morning's events. The price of 100 papers changed from 50 cents to 60. Jack was furious, but he knew there was nothing he could do alone, which was what he was, and what he always had to be.

On the other hand, a whirlwind of rebellion was rounded up in the few short minutes following the announcement of the change to the main Manhattan newsie gang.

"Jack Kelly would know what ta do," Ike had announced at the gates of the New York World office.

"When's the last time you've seen Jack around, Stupid?" Race shot back, sitting down on the massive wagon of newspapers. "He's gone all 'Lone Wolf' since last winter."

"Maybe it's part of the cowboy phase," Albert commented.

"Ike's right," Declared Crutchie, who stood in the center of the scatter plot of boys. "Jack wouldn't stand for this for a second. An' he's always been our leader, right? Shouldn't someone go an' find 'im?"

"Get it through your thick skull, will ya?" Race whined. "Jack. Is. _Gone_. He ain't part of the family no more."

"Well, I still wanna do somethin' 'bout it, 'cuz someone has to," Crutchie replied. "Jack or jack."

"Jack or jack?" Race questioned.

"He means Jack or nothin'," Albert clarified.

"You wanna say Jack or nothin' or Jack or no Jacks?" Mike asked. "Cuz that'd be Jack or jack Jack. Or Jack or jack Jacks."

"Wait, who's Jack Jack?"

"We've got jack Jack Jack?"

Specs hopped up onto the paper wagon. "Enough! Listen up! I know where Jack goes every mornin'. I could ask 'im for counsel," he suggested. "No doubt he'd say we'd hafta strike.

"Uh, didja see what happened to the trolley workers?" Knobs asked.

"We'd do it right," Jojo said, hopping up onto the wagon with Specs.

Crutchie settled for standing right beside them. "Who's with us, huh? How are we gonna tell old man Joe we mean business? How are we gonna tell 'im he can't push us around?"

"You guys are insa-ane," Race said in a sing-song voice.

Romeo jumped onto the wagon, giving it a slight tremble. "Come on, guys. We could scare the pants offa Pulitzer!"

There was reluctance. There was arguing. There was all the turmoil that results from the lack of a good leader. But nevertheless, the rowdy New Yorkers eventually made their minds clear about one thing; they had to do something, or Pulitzer was going to hike the price again.

In the next day, Specs would summon Jack, and the strike would initiate.

Then, they would march on Pulitzer's doorstep.

**…**

"Hey, Crutchie!

…Crutchie?

Crutchie!"

The boy sprung to sitting up in his bunk bed, eyes still drooped in fatigue. "Who is it?"

"Crutch, it's Elmer. You might wanna get up."

Crutchie slowly pried open his eyes to see Elmer standing over him, fully dressed.

"Mornin'," He greeted.

"It's noon, Crutch. Specs'll be back with Jack Kelly in an hour or so, he said," Elmer told him as he walked away.

"Oh, right, right," Crutchie recalled in a slur, still half-asleep. His eyes melted closed again. "Kack Jelly… is comin'… for the strike…"

Crutchie straightened with a jolt, eyes popping out of his head as he realized. "The strike's startin' today!" He shouted.

He practically flew to his feet, throwing his crutch underneath him in one fluid motion as he hurried to the wardrobe for his best flannel and vest, pushing past several boys preparing for the morning in his way.

"The window is open," He exclaimed as he threaded his arms through the shirt. "The sun is out! We got somethin' to get 'spired about! Who knew this was what a revolt feels like?"

He buttoned his vest. "For years we've jus' been Joe's young slaves. Well, they gonna see there's hell ta pay!"

Romeo stood to his side. Was Crutchie …singing?

"Finally," He continued enthusiastically, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We's gonna go on strike!" He then proceeded to race down the stairs to the lobby.

"There's gonna be some real danger," he reminded himself. "We could wind up in prison, I'm sure."

Crutchie shook it off and marched out the door onto the street. "Wow, am I excited for what's in store!"

He opened his arms wide to the glow of the sun. "'Cuz for the first time in forever, we're gonna take a stand! For the first time in forever, we won't take another command…"

Crutchie glanced down the street Specs had left on just a half hour earlier. "And I know I'm stupid to dream that I'd get my brother back…" He cracked a grin. "But for the first time in forever, at least I'm on his track."

…

"I ain't goin' back there," Jack argued, bracing in the summer breeze as it whistled through the slums of Manhattan.

"Jack," Specs attempted again, grabbing his arm before he could storm away down the street to sell his last few papers. "Jack, they need you. They _need _your confidence. Don't you think it's unfair what Pulitzer's doin'?"

"Of course I do," Jack shot back. "It's sick, twisted, corrupted – welcome to New York!"

"But we can stop 'em!" Specs encouraged.

"I don't doubt it," Jack grumbled. "No one else could raise

Hell like you lot."

"Then why don't you join us?" Specs inquired. "Jack, we've been without our leader for months. We need you now more than ever, or them boys are gonna end up in jail."

Jack exhaled deeply, eyes dwelling on the concrete, fidgeting with the frayed wool on one of his glove's thumbs.

"Okay," He agreed. "We gotta rally together. No other choice."

Specs smiled. "That's 'im. That's Jack!" He slung an arm around his neck. Our cowboy's back in business!"

Jack smiled, though inside he couldn't be more frightened by Specs' touch.

_Don't let them in, _He thought. _Don't let them see. Be the leader you always used to be._

"Come on, the Lodging House is back this way," Specs told him, pulling him down the sidewalks.

_Conceal,_ Jack reminded himself. _Don't feel._

He felt the strange chill and willed himself to keep his body warm.

_Put on a show. Screw up just once and everyone will know. _

He looked up ahead. _But it's only for the strike…_

Crutchie hung an arm on the lamppost in front of the Lodging House. "It's only for the strike!"

_Gotta help 'em out tonight._

"It's happenin' tonight!"

Jack dragged Specs' arm away from his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Tell the boys I'm all prepared…" He swallowed. "To fight."

"We'll fight!" Crutchie declared. "For the first time in forever…"

_Conceal, don't feel, don't let them see…_

"We'll get a chance to soak them sharks!"

_Be the leader you always used to be…_

"A chance to change this dreary town!"

_Conceal…_

"A chance to make our mark!"

_Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know…_

Crutchie spit in his hands and rubbed them together, grinning madly. "I know it might end tomorrow, so we gotta seize the day!"

He leaned back on the brick wall. "So for the first time in forever…"

He lifted his crutch into the sky, with its vertical "STRIKE" banner attached since last night. "For the first time in forever…"

He slid the crutch back under himself and proudly limped down the sidewalk.

"Nothin's in my way!"

He proceeded to bump right into a high-class, brunette young woman who had been writing in a pad of paper.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, turning face to him. "Sorry."

"Nah, pardon me, Miss," Crutchie replied. He was about to keep walking, but she stopped him with a question.

"Is it true what I hear about a strike happening today?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "Led by the fearless Jack Kelly."

The girl seemed to smile ironically a bit at the name. "Of course it is," she muttered. "You see, I'm a reporter, so I was just curious."

"No problem at all," He assured her. He stuck out a hand. "Crutchie Morris."

The girl took it and tried not to wince when she found it moist. "Katherine Plumber," She greeted. "Maybe some time I'll come back around with some questions. Could get a story like this front page of the Sun with just a little push."

"Wow," Crutchie marveled. "Front page of a pape?"

Katherine nodded. "We'll see what I can do. I'll catch up with you later, Crutchie. And good luck."

"Thanks, Miss," He said with a smile as he continued down his path.

"Jack Kelly," She muttered as she watched Crutchie go. "Just what have you gotten yourself into?"


	4. A City of Isolation

**_Author's note:_**

_Thank you all SO MUCH for all the awesome reviews this lil crossover thing has gotten! You guys are awesome!_

_(Also, I'd like to take this chapter to thank Jeremy Jordan for singing "Let it Go" at the Miscast.)_

_Anyway, any of you that have seem my profile know this, but updating schedule in general is gonna be patchy (or, you know, non-existent) in the next, like, four weeks, but I'll try to get back to this one as soon as I can!_

_thischapterkindasuckslikewritingstylewisebutjustkeepreadingitwillgetbettersoonipromisemaybe_

**~CW**

Just three hours later, the boys were called together in Newsie Square for final preparations and words of encouragement. No one ever knew such a small gaggle of boys could produce such a racket as they were now in anticipation of stopping the wagons from delivering to the rest of the city.

Crutchie stood in its midst, feeling a bit anxious but excited as he leaned against the stone statue of Horace Greeley in the center of the square. For once, he was silent.

"Hi."

The boy looked over to his right. Oh. Oh jeez. It was him. It was Jack Kelly. Jack Kelly was looking right at him. He towered a good few inches over him, dressed with layers of blue and grey and a hint of a familiar smile.

Crutchie looked behind him and back again to ensure he was the intended audience. "Hi... Hi me? I mean, uh, yeah, hey."

Jack knitted his eyebrows in a quick surge before dropping them. To be honest, he felt just as strange as his friend did.

"Welcome back," Crutchie offered with an unsure grin. "The boys missed ya."

Jack felt a pang of guilt. "Thanks," he managed. He turned his back against the base of the statue and leaned as Crutchie did. "So, this is what I've been missin'," he assessed jokingly.

"It's warmer out here then I thought it would be," Crutchie remarked.

Jack tried not to recall the midnights they would run out to Newsie Square and he would glaze the entire place with snow just to show off. Andrew - Crutchie, he had to remind himself - would always throw the first snowball. Somehow, the winter wonderland would usually be fully melted by the time the battle was over. Jack wasn't sure exactly why, or why Crutchie still had the vague memory.

"An' who's the geezer, anyhow?" Jack questioned with minimal hesitation, pointing back to the statue. Anything to change the subject

"Not a single clue," Crutchie admitted with a tiny chuckle.

Suddenly, on the outer layer of the crowd, Jack caught sight of brown locks framing the face of a distracted reporter, carefully setting up her camera atop its tripod.

"Okay then, riddle me this," Jack continued. "Who's the dame in the distance?"

"A Miss Plumber," he told him. "Real smart reporter. Wants to get us front page."

Jack's eyes widened. "Front page? You're jokin'."

"Am I?" Crutchie challenged with a face of mock over-confidence. "Why doncha go ask 'er yourself?"

Jack smiled. "Nah, I believe ya. Besides, I've always been a bit nervous around girls," he lied.

"You, Jack Kelly, escaper of prisons, former leader of thousands-"

"Tens," Jack corrected.

"Improvin' the truth a little!" Crutchie stated, referencing something Jack taught him about selling papers.

He laughed. "Yeah, the leader of tens is afraid 'a openin' his mouth in front 'a ladies."

Crutchie looked at him closely. Though he wanted to be frustrated that they couldn't just pick back up right where they left off, he guessed he didn't want justification for the lost year. He was just happy he was back.

"Betcha they're easier in Santa Fe, ain't they?"

Jack looked over to him with a smirk in his eye.

"Yeah," he replied. "Fresh air, a sky full 'a twinklin' stars, wide open pastures, and the dolls throwin' themselves atcha from every corner."

They laughed together this time.

"Haven't found it yet, but soon as I do..." Jack paused and made warm eye contact this time. "You could still come, too, if ya want. Toss the old crutch for good."

"'Ey, seriously," Crutchie said with a playful shoulder nudge. "I missed ya."

Jack put a hand on the boy's head and ruffled his cap good-naturedly. "Missed ya too, Crutchie."

"A'ight, guys!" Sniper announced, climbing on top of the statue's pedestal. "The transportation of the evenin' edition starts now! Jack, any final words?"

Jack smiled at Crutchie before heaving himself up beside Sniper.

"We are only a force as long as we work as a team!" He shouted as he planted his feet on the pedastal. "No man gets left behind. They gonna pay for thinkin' they can jus' push us around! Let's give 'em a soakin' they'll never forget!"

...

The newsies started out with good strength, but within minutes Jack was looking out at a quickly dwindling number of their ranks actually fighting back against the cops, Wisel's cronies, and the Delancey Brothers. Morris himself was hot on his trail up the World office's fire escape.

"Welcome home, Jacky Old Sport," he sneered as he grabbed his arm. "Missed me?"

Jack jerked his arm back and shoved Morris as hard as he could. The boy went tumbling down a few steps with a shout like the sickening yowl of a dying cat.

"Dog's still got some bite, I see," he muttered as he got back to his feet.

Jack flung shut the door between the level he just reached and Morris to slow his advancement. When that didn't seem like enough, he threw off a glove in haste. It flew away in the wind, but he didn't have enough time to be concerned of it. He grabbed where the door connected to the rail and secreted a fine coating of ice to seal it shut before dashing back up the stairs. His hand ached a bit from stirring the powers he'd hidden for so long, but he had to keep sprinting.

Crutchie, meanwhile, zoomed with surprising agility through the battlefield on the street below, scattering the shreds of the evening's New York World across the hot cobblestone. He was untouchable.

Suddenly, a beefy hand caught his collar and threw him to the ground. He grunted as he tried to push himself back up. Without looking, he knew Snyder had gotten him. He tried to keep his arms from shaking as he lifted from the floor. He had heard enough Refuge horror stories already. He wasn't going in, he wasn't going in, he wasn't going in...

CRACK!

His own crutch came hurtling through the air and slammed down against his back like a whip.

CRACK!

It burned. It ached. Crutchie couldn't win. He was pathetic.

CRACK!

"Jack!" Crutchie cried by impulse. He had to respond. He just had to. "Jack, help!"

CRACK!

Jack, halfway up the second level, threw himself to a stop and searched the ground below him. Right in the middle of the crowd was where his former brother was struggling. Snyder had his strange weapon of choice arched high above his head.

"Crutchie!" He shouted in desperation, shooting his right hand out over the rail as if just a few more inches' reach could save him.

He realized just too late that only his left one was still gloved.

A blast of silver spiraled out from his palm and hurtled through the air to the concrete below. Crutchie's head flashed up and he rolled out of its way at the very moment before it hit. Jagged stalactites of ice rose from the ground like sharpened swords lodged in a mound of frost the size of a full-grown berry bush.

Everything was enveloped in a stunned silence.

Except Jack's mind, that is. He looked down at his bare hand back out into the ocean of eyes, staring straight back up at him.

Even Crutchie had sat straight up and stared from afar. Shocked? Scared? Recalling?

Jack felt like the world was crumbling in on him. So, he did the only thing he knew.

He ran.

He clamored up the stairs of the fire escape, followed by shouts and screams and demands that were garbled to simple meaningless gibberish in his pounding ears. His feet stumbled and fell and leaped right back up – anything to keep moving.

The roof. He finally got to the roof. It was not a fairly large building, and the one nearest in height was all the way across the busy street.

He walked towards the gap and crouched, both his hands gripping the rim of the roof. Maybe, just maybe, if he tried hard enough…

The snow began to form. He was rusty, but he still had it deep down. He concentrated on solidity, on length, on anything to get him across.

When he looked up, a full, bridge-like plank, five feet wide, made entirely of ice, connected him to the bakery across the road.

He glanced behind him. Their shouts still rung out. He had to keep moving.

Over the bridge he went, gently being showered upon by the beginnings of a perfect blizzard.

…

Central Park was where he finally took his pause. Everyone had gone home from there, probably frightened by the sudden change of weather. The snow came down in clouds around Jack, painting the distant skyscrapers and blanketing the ground, but that seemed to be the least of his worries. As he trudged through, holding his arms close around his chest, agony scraped through his soul.

He had failed Medda.

He had probably lost the only friend that ever mattered.

He had lost himself.

He glanced up at the overhanging canopy of frost-coated trees. He had done this.

Yet somehow he felt… Satisfied?  
_  
"The snow glows white in Manhattan tonight,_

_Where you can't hear them scream or shout._

_A city of isolation,_

_And it looks like I broke out."_

A bitter breeze whipped at his shirtsleeves.

_"__The wind is howling like the swirling storm inside.  
Couldn't keep it in, God know I've tried.  
'Don't cop out now,' 'Just let them be,'_

_'__Be the leader you always have to be.'  
'Conceal, don't feel,' just don't screw up…"_

He stopped and looked down at his black knit glove, trapping his sketching hand. He tugged it off by the index finger and threw it to the sky, watching it glide away like a crow on the wing.

_"Well, I screwed up!"_

He began toying with his magic now, tentatively releasing sparkling snowflakes into the cool air.

_"Let it go, _

_Let it go,_

_Can't hold it back anymore!"_

Jack smiled at the release, tossing up a curl of snow into the sky. A ton of bricks had just tumbled off of his shoulders.

_"Let it go!  
Let it go!"_

With a controlled spiral of a single finger, he assembled blocks of ice into a miniature snowman. Snowboy. Whatever it was, it looked like something Crutchie would love.

He laughed. _"Stop runnin' and slam the door!"_

His other hand carefully crafted another one straight from the powder around him, much taller and put together better overall. Even his posture was perfectly straight.

_"__I don't care what the boys will say!  
Let the storm rage on…"_

He unbuttoned his vest and released it over his shoulders to be carried away in the icy wind.

_"The cold never bothered me anyway,"_ he smirked.

He looked out behind him on the misty afternoon sky as he continued, where the snow sparkled on its slow descent to the cement that had trapped him all these years.

_"__It's funny how some distance  
Makes the city seem so small.  
All my deadlines and next week's headline_

_Don't mean a thing at all!  
It's time to see what I can create.  
The world's my canvas! The ice is just more paint!  
No right, no wrong,_

_No laws for me…  
I'm free!_

_Let it go, let it go!  
I am one with the wind and sky!  
Let it go, let it go!  
They'll never see me cry!"_

Jack stumbled back and turned to find himself at the summit of a massive hill of his own accidental creation, standing up proud in the center of the park, overlooking the city buildings like mere children's blocks in the distance. He slammed a foot down.

_"__Here I stand, and here I stay!_

_Let the storm rage on…"_

Feeling empowered, Jack threw his arms out every which way and erected crystalline walls from the mound of snow, a grand building forming around him.

_"__My power flurries through the air into the ground._

_My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around!  
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast…"_

Jack's eyes flipped open to take in the shimmering shape that he had built around himself, like the floor of a country mansion. His glance flashed to the window, where he could see the clueless citizens of Manhattan fleeing the streets like ants from a crumbling hill. He shook his head away and grabbed his hat.

_"I'm never goin' back.  
They all can kiss my ass!_

_Let it go!  
Let it go!  
And I'll rise like the west's pink dawn!  
Let it go!  
Let it go!  
Their old pal Jack is gone!_

_Here I stand,  
In the light of day!"_

With that, he whirled back around to the window and threw himself out onto the icicles of the fire escape that he somehow knew had to be there to catch him. Grabbing his hat, he stared into the clouds and shouted,

_"It ain't Santa Fe…"_

He slowly stretched his navy cap from his scalp as he made his declaration, one more triumphant grin pulling itself across his face.

_"But the cold never bothered me anyway," _He said with finality. He crawled back in through the ice window.

It shut itself closed behind him.


End file.
